


Prayer

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Implied Torture, M/M, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: Wish fulfillment





	Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/182711105060/prayer

 

Crowley was being punished.

What it was for this time, he didn’t know.  It almost didn’t matter.  Probably some minor infraction against a capricious demon higher up on the food chain than him.  It hadn’t been explained to him, as usual, and he hadn’t been given the chance to make amends, as usual.

Fortunately there was a break, currently, as his tormentor had been called away for something for an unspecified amount of time.  Just a little breather.  Sometimes that made it worse, though.

For example, now he was just chained up against a wall with nothing to look at but the bricks three inches from his nose.  Which, while less painful, was incredibly boring, and he found boredom almost as torturous as pain.

His wings were his only limbs not immobilized, so he flapped them frenetically like a pigeon trying to avoid a human walking into them.  It did nothing, of course, but it made him feel a little better despite the pain that lanced through the ragged wounds in his wings at the motion.  It rattled the chains, and he pulled at them again.

He sighed, letting his head _thunk_ against the wall.  In the dim light, he could just barely see his shoes down there, and a few drops of moisture dripped down onto them.  It was from the dingy cave roof, surely, not his own face.

Crowley tilted his head up, up to that monotonous grey ceiling, imaging the Earth up there, above the miles and miles and miles of rock and dirt separating them.  And miles and miles above that…

To say that Crowley was prideful would be a little inaccurate. He merely clung to whatever scraps of dignity he was allowed very fiercely.  And yet, he swallowed both his pride and the lump in his throat, and began to do something he hadn’t done in a very long time.

“Dear God…” he said, bowing his head and squeezing his eyes shut.  Even saying the name made his tongue tingle like an allergic reaction.  “I…I don’t always understand…I don’t always think what you do is fair, and…I know you’ve…rejected me, in no uncertain terms.  So maybe it’s foolish to even try this…  Maybe you’ll just smite me, I don’t know.”

He folded his wings in on himself like a blanket.  “But I’m so tired.  I’m so fucking tired,” he choked past the sob in his throat.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he felt a small flicker of divine energy course through him.  God was _listening?_

He swallowed again, trying to steady himself.  “The world you made is so beautiful and intricate…The humans are so… and…  I’m not making much sense, am I?  I know I’m supposed to hate your Creation, but I can’t do it.  I yearn for it.  I want nothing more than to be back up there.  And yet you decided this is where I belong.”

He titled his head back down, tears streaming down his cheeks.  “Humans love to talk about how merciful you are. If you…If you could find somewhere in your infinite mercy…some for me…”

He let the sentence trail off.  He didn’t know how to end it.  He didn’t think any demon had ever asked for that, and felt like he couldn’t physically make his mouth form any more words.

A key scraped in the door lock behind him, heralding the return of his torturer.  Crowley sighed and leaned into the bricks, feeling extremely foolish.

But when the door swung open, he didn’t hear the taunts that usually began.  He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, only to see Aziraphale standing there, one hand still on the door.  “Hello, my dear,” he said quietly.

“Aziraphale?” whispered Crowley.  “What are you doing here?”

A soft smile crested Aziraphale’s face.  “Answering your prayers.”


End file.
